


Hundred Bucks

by feathertail



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, I saw it as HS AU but it doesn't come out in the fic how old they are so, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail
Summary: Race apparently can't ask for what he wants, he prefers the roundabout way.





	Hundred Bucks

Spot hated when his boyfriend called him. He didn’t hate all communication, he was quite happy texting, whether it was arranging dates of Race telling him to meet him on the Bridge now (which he hurried to worriedly, just in case, even when the last few occurrences of this situation they had ended up smoking and making out); he just didn’t like the buzz of his phone against his thigh and the display reading ‘ **Incoming call** from _Racer_ ’, because Race calling meant he had gotten himself into trouble again.  
  
A little grumpy at being disturbed thus on a Sunday afternoon, he let the call ring off, settling back into the cushions on the couch, thumbing his game controller to continue the game. But when his phone rang again immediately, he stabbed _pause_ and picked up.  
“What, Race?” he grunted, closing his eyes as he slid more into his cushions.  
“Spot!” his boyfriend greeted, overly cheerily. Spot groaned down the line. He was definitely in trouble.  
“What did yous do this time?” he grumbled, running a semi-exasperated hand through his hair.  
“Why do you always assume I’ve done something when I call you?” Race protested.  
“Because yous always have, and yous always need me to get yous outta it, Racer.” He ignored his boyfriend’s indignant noise of protest, and waited for him to elaborate on what he had done now.  
“Can you help me win a bet?”  
Spot groaned. Again. “I always end up doin’ it, Racer. What did yous stake this time? Yous runnin’ nude again?” He snorted down the line, frowning when Race didn’t reply. “Race?” He sighed. “What did yous stakes?”  
If he hadn’t been listening carefully, he would have missed the very quiet reply of “hundred bucks”.  
  
To say Spot flipped his shit would be an understatement.  
  
“What the fuck, Race?!” he yelped, bolting up, phone pressed tight to his ear. “Yous don’ have a hundred bucks! Why the fuck would yous stake a hundred bucks on _anythin_ _’_ , Racer? We talked about this an’ your problem wit gamblin’!” He continued for a while longer before flopping back down on the couch “Race?”  
He frowned at the quiet response he got. That wasn’t good. “They was sayin’ things ‘bout me and yous, Spot,” Race mumbled, discomfort clear.  
“So you decided to stake a hundred bucks to prove ‘em wrong?” Spot sighed, rolling his eyes when he got a quiet affirmative. “What did you stake it on?”  
It took a while, but eventually Race came out with it. “That I ain’t no virgin. That you an’ me have sex.”  
  
Spot fell silent at that. They hadn’t had sex, and for all he knew, Race still was a virgin. Eventually, he produced, “Well, ‘s not so bad. We just tell ‘em we’s done it an’ that’s that,” he shrugged, itching his nose. The awkward shifting on the other end of the line made the back of his neck prickle.  
“Racer...”  
“Mm?”  
“Tell me this ain’t a 'pictures or it didn’t happen' situation.”  
“I-”  
But Race didn’t need to finish that sentence. Spot was already face down in his cushions, wanting to die. Because both he and Race knew he’d end up doing it, both to save Race the money, and his pride.  
“They said we could skype ‘em afterwards, an’ that’d do?” Race proffered tentatively.  
“When’s your deadline?” Spot sighed.  
“Tomorrow,” Race admitted softly.  
Spot contained his groan. Then, after a few minutes silence, he spoke. “Guess you’d better get over here, huh?”  
  
And by the way Race clattered down the basement steps only a few minutes later, Spot could tell that he’d likely been lurking in the garden or around the block, and had definitely not just crossed the Bridge to find him.  
  
Spot sat up, discarding his phone and game controlled, holding out his hands for Race, thankful when he fell into them easily with a soft sigh, worming close both physically and into Spot’s heart.  
“Ain’t no shame in losin’ a bet, Racer, or callin’ one off,” he murmured gently into his hair, kissing his crown. “We don’ have to do this.”  
Race shrugged quietly. “I been meaning to ask for a while anyway,” he mumbled in reply, and by ‘a while’ likely meaning obsessively for a short amount of time.  
“Well, yous tells me if I’s makin’ yous uncomfortable,” Spot murmured, moving down to kiss Race on the lips, gently, chastely, before sliding further to kiss along his boyfriend’s jaw.  
  
Race tilted his head, eyes sliding shut as Spot kissed him. They’d gone this far in making out, sure, but never with the promise of more, and never this sweetly, with Spot pausing to check Race was okay every time he went a little further. He slowly sank back into the cushions, Spot straddling him and kissing his way all over his neck and jaw. His fingers teased at the buttons of his shirt. “Can I-” he broke off at Race’s nod and continued, fingers working them open with his lips following them down, brushing light kisses and touches over skin he had never seen before in this light, only on very hot days or when they were swimming. Nothing like this. He worshipped every inch, with words and lips and hands, caressing and kissing and _loving_ him.  
  
The shirt was long discarded on the floor when Spot turned his attention to Race’s trousers, thumbs brushing the waistband only once before he rose to kiss him on the lips and make him look at him.  
“Race, are yous sure?” he murmured, cradling his cheeks in his hands, fingers tracing soft curls.  
“I’m sure,” Race insisted, propping himself up on his elbows to kiss his boyfriend. Spot hesitated for a moment more, but at his boyfriend’s repeated assurances, he slid back down.  
  
Gently lifting his boyfriend’s hips to easier slide down his jeans, Spot bent to kiss newly revealed flesh that he hadn’t seen even in the pool. As the denim dropped to the floor, he pressed his lips to Race’s hipbones, mouthing at the skin there, the first time he’d done anything with any actual real heat behind it. He grinned against the skin as Race groaned, his boyfriend’s hips canting up a little, searching for friction.  
“’S okay, Racer,” he murmured softly, stroking a thumb there as he spoke, working it under the waistband and tugging it a little lower. “I gotcha.”  
  
He hooked his fingers in Race’s underwear and gently slid them down, off, and away, pulling his socks with them and pressing a teasing kiss to each foot before returning to business. He worked his way up Race’s chest, kissing a line up, and paused when he reached his collarbone. “’M I allowed to mark yous, Racer?” he asked softly, stroking a thumb across his cheek again. And when Race groaned and nodded, he flashed a grin and ducked back down, biting and licking and sucking until his boyfriend had a pretty array of bruising marks, most below the neckline of Race’s usual shirts, but a couple pushed the boundary a little. And by then, Race was getting impatient.  
  
Spot rose to kiss him gently, trying to soothe him. He didn’t want to rush. But Race wasn’t having any of it. He tugged impatiently at his boyfriend’s shirt, complaining in a mumble through their kiss.  
“Off,” he grumbled, and Spot had to pull back to acquiesce, but Race still whined at the lack of kisses now.  
“Hush,” Spot murmured quietly as he dropped his shirt on the floor and surged back into kissing him, hands roving over delightfully bare skin before pulling away to work at his belt and the fastenings of his own jeans, though his lips stayed firmly attached to Race’s as his boyfriend locked his grip in his hair and kept him there, so he couldn’t pull away even if he tried. Eventually his jeans were also on the floor, belt thudding onto the caret heavily, followed by the lighter sound of his jeans, and then underwear, following.  
  
And then logistics came into being in Spot’s fairly love-addled mind, and he paused, sitting back between Race’s legs and thinking. Then, as he raised his hand to spit in it, Race caught it, flushing hard.  
“Wait,” he stuttered, and, as Spot looked at him in confusion, grabbed for the jacket he’d taken off when he had arrived, before Spot had got his hands on him.  
Spot frowned. “Race, what are you...” his voice was muffled as his boyfriend clumsily slotted a hand over his mouth and delved into his jacket pocket, finally withdrawing a bottle of lube and a small packet of condoms.  
“I was hoping...” he smiled sheepishly, blush reaching Spot’s love bites as his boyfriend laughed behind the hand.  
“At least one of us was thinkin’, eh?” Spot murmured, leaning down to kiss Race, taking the supplies from his hand. “I’m glad yous did, Racer, ‘therwise it coulda been painful for yous.” And even without the concerned crease of his forehead or any other physical sign, you could just tell from the tone of his words that Spot _cared_. He loved his boyfriend so much that he didn’t want to hurt him, even if pleasure was ultimately to be gotten out of it.  
“Shaddap,” Race scoffed, and Spot grinned into their kiss, then pulled back.  
  
“Yous still sure?” he checked, and waited for Race’s eye roll and nod before clicking open the lube, tugging his shirt from the floor to slide under Race’s hips over the supporting cushion he’d placed there, so as not to dirty it. He carefully slicked up one finger, and, watching his boyfriend’s face for any sign of discomfort or general not-wanting-to-do-this-any-more, slid it in. Any time Race so much as twitched, he stopped and apologised, waiting for him to tell him it was okay to continue before moving his hand again. And in this way, getting through more lube than was strictly necessary just because he worried, he worked Race up to four fingers, his boyfriend a sweating, squirming, groaning mess on the couch in front of him. He was _irresistible._  
  
“Spot, please,” Race moaned, reaching out a hand to try and grab his boyfriend. Spot caught the hand in his less-lubed hand, and kissed the palm softly.  
“You ready, doll?” he murmured, watching his expression shift.  
“I’ve been ready since the start, I was born ready, Conlon. Now, fuck me already!” Spot raised an eyebrow. Race stared back, but then reluctantly tagged on, “Please?” because he needed this, goddamnit.  
“Love it when you ask nicely, Racer,” Spot murmured, then picked up the condoms from where he’d discarded them, and held out two to Race. “I’s got lube on m’hands.”  
Race smirked but opened them, trading them for kisses, hands tangling in Spot’s hair and trailing down his chest. He protested minutely when Spot pulled back, but that was lost in an instant as Spot rolled his condom on and started slowly stroking him.  
“Fuck, Spot,” he groaned, arching into the first touch he’d got on his dick from anyone other than himself. “Yes, please,” he continued, breaking off when Spot stopped. “Why’d you-”  
“D’you wan’ me to fuck yous or not, Racer?” Spot smirked, humming when Race fell silent and nodded, and rolled his own condom on. “You ready?” he checked, leaning over him and pressing their lips together again.  
  
At Race’s firm assent, he slowly began to press into him, watching his face intently, stopping, as before, at any sign of discomfort. “’S okay, Racer,” he reassured gently. “’S okay to ask to stop, love.” But Race insisted, and soon Spot bottomed out, and Race squirmed where he lay.  
“Jus’- _move_ ,” he grumbled when Spot asked him what was wrong, immediately breaking off into a groan as Spot shifted his hips slightly and brushed against a spot inside him that made fireworks explode in his brain. “Aw, fuck, do that again,” he groaned, and Spot frowned a little.  
“What? I didn’t do anything,” he murmured, but pulled out a little and pushed back in experimentally, canting his hips a little in the right direction, grinning as he was rewarded with another, frankly scandalous, groan from his boyfriend.  
  
“How’s that, Race?” he asked, slowly thrusting as he looked down at his boyfriend.  
“Fuck, yes, just- more, faster,” Race mumbled, semi-incoherently, hands waving in the air as he shut his eyes, arching his back.  
Spot obeyed, working up his pace, settling into a good rhythm, hands gripping Race’s hips firmly but not too tightly, closing his eyes as well as he tilted his head back, groaning softly. “Fuck, Race. You feel so good,” he breathed, chest rising and falling in a regular pattern as he panted, hips jerking mostly in time.  
  
They lost both their coherency not too long after that; with every strike to his prostate, Race would groan, and clench, which would in turn make Spot groan. They kissed clumsily, lips and tongues everywhere, hands sliding here and there, grabbing at each other in their frenzy, panting each other’s names, curse words, and vehement agreements. And then Spot could feel himself nearing the edge, and he pulled back from the newest bruise he was sucking into Race’s jaw.  
“Race,” he groaned softly. “I’m gonna- can I?” And at Race’s simple nod, his hips stuttered once, twice, thrice, and he slumped over his boyfriend, managing to catch himself before he completely crumbled, but he did lose everything else for a minute or so until the ringing in his ears stopped and he could see again.  
“Fuck,” he swore softly as he pulled out, lobbing the condom into the trash across the room, thankful it did actually land in.  
  
He smiled softly down at Race, a flushed, still-squirming mess beneath him, hard and leaking into the condom. “Hey,” he murmured, dipping down to catch his lips with his own, one hand slipping into Race’s hair, the other sliding down to lock around his cock, pumping it slowly, twisting his wrist, exploring what Race enjoyed. In a matter of a few minutes, he had Race coming as well, and he kissed him through it, and when they broke apart they were both grinning.  
  
Later, when they were both dressed in a shirt of Spot’s each (Race’s original shirt had been recruited into cleaning up) and sat on their couch, though slightly more in each other’s laps than usual, playing a video game, Spot leaned across to kiss one of the purple marks on Race’s jaw.  
“There was no bet, was there?” he murmured.  
Race paused for slightly too long, and he knew it. Damn. He’d forgotten about his cover story. Ah, well. “Yeah, you got me,” he murmured softly, not looking at Spot.  
“Hey,” Spot murmured, pausing the game and turning to ensure Race was looking at him. “Next time, yous can ask. Okay? Yous don’t need to try and come up with a story. Just ask next time, okay?”  
And when Race nodded, he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you. Yous can trust me, Racer. I ain’t gonna let you down.”  
And Race smiled, and leaned forwards to kiss him again. “You know, we’ve still got a couple condoms and some lube...” he suggested, but the end of his sentence finished in a yelp as Spot tackled him off the sofa onto the floor with a loud crow, hugging him tightly.  
“You’re ridiculous, and I love you.”


End file.
